• Ventrilo
• TeamSpeak

• Airborne
• Viper
• KemperKid
• Moonshiner
• Brian
• Vader
• Antithym
• Gorm
• GreyRaven
• HODJA
• Quixotic
• WhiskeyBravo
• Zones
• Beetle
• Undertaker
• FreakinKilla
• UFTimmy
• Froggy
• Digix
• Pharsyde
• Nintari
• BF

• Nickname
• Nickname
• Nickname
• Nickname
• Nickname
• Nickname

5 percent or 95 percent? Yeah, 5 percent | Posted by: [CSTF]®BuckingFastard05/01/2008

Cancer!

So I'm at the upper gastro-intestinal doctor just an hour ago and I found out, based on evidence in the forms of photos of me and a shee.. err wait (wrong photos) ... where was I ... oh yes, photos of my esophagus that suggest that I have Barrett's Syndrome. The doctor (his name is Frank and has an Italian last name that, out of respect for my privacy, I'll not reveal), but I call him by my version of his last name, Messengerofdeath) next told me the great news: that the biopsy he obtained of my innards conclusively does confirm that I have Barrett's, and that I -- get this -- have a 5% chance to develop esophageal cancer over the next ten years. Five percent ... cancer ... 10 short years ... I am screwed.

Or am I?

You see, he pointed out that while 5% may seem like a big number, 95% is a much, much larger number (for you plebians, the 95% refers to the chance that I won't get cancer), so guess what, I should look on the bright side. So then I asks him, "Hey Doc, so what's the chances of me getting cancer in say, how about 40 years?" And he replied, "I'm not in the Mafia just because I'm Italian so don't talk to me that way, and well, every ten years the chances go up by 5%." So, when I'm 70, should I live that long (which isn't looking good ... my dad's father died at 48 and Dad at 60 -- but maybe the 12 year improvement from grandfather to son/my-pappy will carry over to 72 for me!), I'll have a 20% chance of getting cancer of the esophagus. Twenty percent. Sheesh. That's like, 20%.

But then he told me that once, :"... when I was going through a difficult time in my life, someone told me, 'Frankie, we needs you to makes this Molotov cocktail'... Err wrong guy, I mean, he told me, '90% of what you worry about will never happen, and the other 10% you can't control.'" So that made me really happy, because it means I can't control this raging cancer that is just waiting to sneak up on me and kill me and then eat my corpse the way a wombat or really hungry and desperate anteater would. So anyways, I'm pondering the 5%/95% question. Should I live in fear of the 5%, or live happily knowing there's a 95% chance that I WON'T get cancer of the esophagus (of which my friend, who worked in a cancer clinic, told me is basically one of the worst cancers you can get). Of course, that 95% pertains only to my Barrett's syndrome. What if, like, I were to swallow a cancer-laden rack of lamb, not that I ever eat lamb, but just go with me here damnit, because these could be my dying words; so yeah, I eat a rack of lamb that someone poisoned with cancer juice, and boom, that 95% means, in the words of the great Chris Farley, Jack Squat. (What's Jack squatting over anyways? I really don't want to take this column to the dump and drop loads of it with hidden doodoo innuendo.)

I'll tell you this: I'm only going to worry about it for about a week before I forget that I might get cancer. I have this incredibly skippy-term memory where I forgot the immediate and the good years of my childhood, block out bad stuff like when I had to fish a dead rat out of my mom's toilet (true story) and forget that 5 years ago I visited Guam for a month, etc. So I won't remember I could get cancer until maybe 6 months from now, and then I'll worry about it for another seven days before forgetting again. So until then, after the upcoming 7 day spree of anxiety, I'm worry-free for about half a year. And that, my friends, is the best news I've heard all day.


Should Rocket Launchers Be Legal For Drivers Named [CSTF]®BuckingFastard?

The answer is yes, at least for earlier today. Get this: first off, this jackass is driving 15 miles an hour on a 25 mph street, and when it (I can't imagine the driver was human) gets to the light, it sits there, possibly picking its alien backside, and right when the light turns red, runs it and leaves me stuck. Of course, the light was red for only 15 seconds, but that's 15 seconds out of the 7 days I have to live. THEN, I go to my bank with a check I need to deposit so as to not go broke, and wouldn't I be darned if the damn ATM was working perfectly ... except, of course, that its check-taking system was "temporarily" out of service. It didn't even have a sign telling me this. I had to go through all the button pushing, picking up untold cancers along the way, just for it to tell me at the end of my journey that it's not accepting deposits. So that brightens my day even more. Then finally, to top it off, I'm waiting at a stop sign that turns left immediately to a light that stays green for 15 seconds before turning red and making everyone suffer through two minutes of tedium, and when the light finally turned green, the first three drivers on my side of the stop sign turned first -- which was fair, since they made it to their respective stop sign before the cars on the other side did. So then the Good Samaritan (may he rot in Hell) in front of me, instead of establishing a legal one-for-one stop sign thingee, instead decides "Darnit, I'm going to pee off the people behind me and sit here while I let the rest of the other side of the stop sign go. I am such a Saint!" So I sit through another of the last two minutes of my life while Mr/s. goodie-little two-shoes (why two shoes? If s/he is so good, then s/he should have no shoes, having donated them to me, since I'll need to pawn them to pay my inevitable huge medical bills) sat at the stop sign, being Mother/Father Theresa/Frank. But I didn't honk, didn't order-by-phone a TF2 rocket launcher (which is just as well, since I can't hit a damn thing), didn't do anything except curse this person and his/her/its next seven generations of offspring/alien incubations. And that, my friend, is so darn virtuous of me that I'm practically guaranteed a spot in one of those nicer planes of Hell, or at least one of those really low lying clouds in Heaven, you know the foggy ones that cause people, like that driver in front of me, to careen off of mountainous roads and into a pit of cancerous cobras.


This, my last will and testament, I state to you, my beloved readers,

-BF

p.s. I forgot to actually give any of my stuff away upon my death. Sorry, but I'm keeping it all. Who says we can't take our possessions to Heaven, besides that pesky Bible thing.

3 Comments - View Comments

High fructose corn syrup | Posted by: [CSTF]BuckingFastard04/04/2008

I couldn't think of a better topic heading. Well, as they say in Pair-ee, I dodged a bullet (actually, if it were Paris, I would have already surrendered to it -- Hah! I am a riot) when, in preparing to apply Arctic Silver to my CPU/heatsink, my computer flipped off the side of the kitchen table and did a 360 pirouette and crashed onto my kitchen floor, forever staining its mortal coil with a damn spot of chipped linoleum. So after cursing up a storm (literally, it started raining, but it may have been el co-een-kee-dink), I stabilized the Computerus Beastus by putting it on the center of the table rather than on the edge (rocket science degree for that one kids -- be cool and pity the fool that don't stay in school) and got to work. I removed the fan/heatsink with much fanfare and holy-crapping, and then separated the CPU from the heatsink, since they were stuck together like Airborne and a a side buffet of Slim Jims. I next liberally (that's that they say in the manual) applied Arctic phase one and two cleaning agents to get rid of the previous crappy gunk that was causing my cpu to overheat. After 30 minutes of huffing orange-smelling toxic fumes, I carefully placed the cpu into the 478 socket and locked it in, and next applied the rice-sized amount of Arctic Silver thermal grease that they recommend. I then cursed up another storm as I tried to reattach the heatsink and fan, and after that, I turned on the computer, heard the familiar "Wrrruuur Wruuur", next followed by an unfamiliar repetition of the "Wrrruuur Wruuur", followed by a high-pitched noise coming from the heatsink area.

So I turned off the 'puter, cursed up a storm while detaching the heatsink, inspected the CPU, which looked fine and as though I had placed a perfect amount of grease upon it, so I re-hooked up everything, turned that bad boy on, and ... got the same spooky noises of doom and Cyclopean voodoo rituals of Easter Island or whatever nutjob scenario HP Lovecraft would envision. So, weeping with the tears of a grown man who carries the stench of failure, I called my old place of employment, a computer place that sells parts and does repairs. I was planning on buying a new MB and/or CPU, since I didn't know if the problem was with the swan-diving computer routine (score of 9.4) perhaps cracking the mobo, or something I did to possess the CPU of Cyclopean daemons. They recommended that I bring my machine in so they could evaluate it for 59 bucks to see where the problem was so that afterward I could spend more money buying the parts I needed for replacement. Well, I dropped it off at 4 pm, and stood there for a minute thinking they'd drop everything and work on it, which, surprising only a dolt like me, they didn't, but told me they'd call me when it was ready. So I drove home and anxiously stared at the clock until 6 pm, which is when the place closed, and once the clock struck six and Vicks took pics of my mix of Twix and hicks (I recently began listening to an Eninem song, so I'm rhymin' like I'm Thiamin (you know, the vitamin)), I buried my face in my pillow and sobbed, wondering what, exactly, the hell I was doing to do with myself for the rest of the night and following morning without a computer, which is like a liver for me, in that I need it to live AND it tastes bad, even served with strawberries.

For that night, I watched Talladega Nights, the UNRATED and UNCUT version (meaning they add an extra "damn" to it) for the first time, even though I'd owned the DVD since X-mas. Going to bed early, I consequently awoke the next morning, and, after calling the computer place to ascertain when my computer would be ready (later that morning), I decided to re-watch my Season One DVD of Heroes, starring GI Joe and Optimus Prime facing off against the former watchmaker Skeletor, who is evil beyond belief and sounds like he's talking while his skeletal nuts are being squeezed in a vice. After each episode I'd look at the clock to see if it were "later this morning" yet, but unfortunately 11 am, then 12 pm, then 1 pm passed. I was getting the feeling that they weren't working on my computer, or if they were, they had it dressed in a red bow and served it crumpets at some weird tea party scenario only a zig-zag of acid could conjure.

But lo! (lo, not lol, you damn ingrate) they called me right as I was obtaining their phone number to call them. They told me that my computer was ready and would cost 99 bucks total. Apparently some idiot (me) had placed the CPU in the socket incorrectly and bent some serious pinnage. Well, after arriving at the waiting room, the technician told me my little computer would be ok, that I could use its original parts, and that they successfully performed surgery to my liddle widdle computer's CPU pins, straightening them all while using a microscope. I was so grateful that I was prepared to tip the guy, but came to my senses once I signed the credit slip for 99.00 bucks. Then, joyously, I carefully hurried my precious computer back to the car, lovingly strapped it behind the passenger seat, making sure the front seat was set far back enough to stabilize my helpless Woobie (computer), and drove home, recalling the words of the technician, who said "there was a centimeter-thick layer of dust caked between the fan and the heatsink." Knowing that the Arctic Silver only had a minimal effect on my CPU's fever when compared to the layer of dust I could had blown out myself in 10 seconds with a 5 dollar can of compressed air, I committed seppuka out of shame. I thus present to you this news article postmortem, although I'm alive right now as I finish this after my computer, sensing my ritual samurai suicide had actually worked, stuffed my bowels back into my body and duct-taped up my internal injuries. So it's postmortem in the sense that I was dead (on the inside -- symbolism), but my computer revived me and gave me a new purpose in life (more Herman-Herman Melvillien extended metaphors for you). So the moral of the story is, Enterprise Car Rental commercials are so smarmy and sappy that they make me want to commit some disemboweling on the person airing those commercials.

Lovingly yours (well not really, but I need a sign-off line),

-BF

2522 Comments - View Comments

Nothing in perpendicular | Posted by: [CSTF]®BuckingFastard03/15/2008

My name is BF, and I have some bad news, unless you hate me, in which case you can feel happy to know that I have Barrett's esophagus, a condition caused by acid reflux, a condition caused by one hundred too-many orders from Papa Johns. Unfortunately, Barrett's esophagus can eventually be cancerous, so I'm letting you all know now that I've decided to get rid of Barrett's esophagus. I mean, why I've been holding on to Ronnie Barrett's esophagus is beyond me, especially knowing that it could crawl out of its vat of primordial ooze (or whatever the hell they store organs in) and give me cancer, a gift I'm not too keen on receiving. So I'm thinking about throwing out Barrett's esophagus and finding a new collection hobby, like kitty litter. For the record, Ronnie Barrett did invent the .50 caliber rifle (copying from Wikipedia), which is important for TF2, since without sniper rifles, snipers would be forced to use their sissy-ass SMGs that do as much damage as a flea fart. So maybe I'll keep Barrett's esophagus after all. It might bring me good luck in TF2, which I definitely need since I have the sniping skills of a flea fart.

Otherwise, all's quiet on the western front, though my eastern front could use a tan, and quite honestly I'm embarrassed by my southern front, which could be called my northern back I guess, but this is no time for semantics, a word that means what words mean. If that concept is too difficult for you to comprehend, then frankly I completely understand, because my definition of semantics is semantically incorrect. Or is it? Where's an English scholar or at least grade-school graduate when we need one? Where the hell are they? Damnit, you know, it just gets frustrating when I need grammar advice from someone, and the only person I can ask is Brian, because I know he'll know the answer, and that just makes me realize why he's BAB and I'm just BF. But maybe I need a goal to provide some sort of motivation to become like BAB. Maybe, just maybe, I'll finish up this article, since it's made up of a bunch of BS I've generated over the past twenty minutes of typing.

Until then, unless I die from cancer of the esophagus, I shall remain yours, BF. If I do die, GN and Popsmear get my computer, since only they would be able to handle the unholy crap that's on it (Hanson MP3s).

-BF

5 Comments - View Comments

Anesthesia feels greaaat | Posted by: [CSTF]®BuckingOutOfIt03/11/2008

Hey dudes, dudettes, and all dudisms that don't fall into the previous two categories (Elvee). It's time we talked a little bit about local anesthesia, because that's what I'm riding high on after an 8 a.m. upper endoscopy. I actually don't FEEL like I'm any different mentally, but I know I am because I just used the word "nappy-poo" on the telephone a minute ago. I mean, damn, who says "nappy-poo" any more. I think they phased out that phrase in 1768, when King George III decided, in his infinite inbred insanity, to stop calling his short sleeps "nappy-poos" and to start calling them "it's illegal to make decent food in Britain"s. But maybe food tastes bad in England because of the notorious stereotype that those of the Golden Gable (that's another name for England, right? I didn't think so either.) have horrible teeth due to another one of King Inbred III's laws, which was that toothbrushes were to be only used for those small, tough-to-reach areas when scrubbing chamberpots. Of course, as a result, people decided either to not brush their teeth, or, if they did, they mouths smelled like dookie (sorry for the technical wording there). And since we all know Europeans hate Americans, it makes sense that they spit in the food they serve us, and therefore, to make a long story short (too late), the food we eat over there tastes like a cow patty. Patty, what a funny word to mean "lump of crap." Like Peppermint Patty, was she .... nevermind, this is going in a direction that even I find tasteless.

Anywhopperdoozies, I'm feeling happy and good right now, and I'll be damned if this huge bandage on my hand isn't a bit scary to look at. That's where they eventually stuck me with the IV (intravenous, not four, as in King Inbred the IV). I say eventually because it took the poor nurse four minutes of digging around and inside my left hand and arm in a desperate archeological dig for a suitable blood vessel to get me high as Paula Abdul during an American Idol marathon session. So, yeah, I have these bandages, and soon I won't, because I assume they'll come off, presumably because I'll remove them, but that's going to be a while from now, so Mr. Ploopers here won't be worrying about it too much. It's hard to worry about anything right now, actually, which is distressing, since I'm so used to worrying. Seriously, why do I worry so much about things. I'll tell you why: The Man, aka BAB, is always looking to compress me. Repress. Impress. One of those presses. I think the press is kinda unfair to all the movie stars and other celebrities that are plagued by wild and inflated accusations of drug addiction and improper behavior. Next thing you know, they'll be saying a fat Elvis died of an overdose while using the toilet. I mean, really. The king of Rock In Roll dying like that? It's a conspiracy, I tell ya, just like the Illuminati assassinating JFK. Jorge, Fred, and Kelsey to be exact. They were good friends, until someone on a grassy knoll picked up a dictionary and decided to see exactly what the hell a "knoll" really is. I thought they were little goblin creatures from DnD. Or maybe that's gnoll. Fudge, I just don't know. Not knowing is a dangerous thing, because it can get you into trouble when you don't know, say, what the passcode is to the vault storing your barracuda fish tank. Barracuda, that was a song, wasn't it. I think it was. Or maybe that was the name of a Jane Fonda movie. I don't know. What I do know is that none of this has made one iota of sense, other than the part about BAB being evil as a weevil. Just like gellin' like a felon. Is BAB a felon? I don't think so. Why would you suggest such a thing. How dare you. I suggest administrative punishment. Ten lashes. That's what they gave Jonny Rico in Starship Troopers after he inadvertently had the head of one of his soldiers blown off during a training exercise. Ten lashes. Thank God Drill Sargent Zim, played by Tom Clancy, gave him a bone wrapped with leather to bite on to while suffering his administrative punishment. I mean, why that. Why not a gob of strawberry-flavored Bubble Yum. I guess that's what the future's like, though: people chew on leather instead of gum. Which gets me to thinking, I'm feeling really sleepy, so I'm going to take a nap, or at least pretend to so that I can really do what I want to do, which is to play a little bit of Daggerfall. Games from 1995 rock! Halt!

-BF

12 Comments - View Comments

Double Dose! Other recruits I forgot to mention! | Posted by: [CSTF]®BuckingFastard03/04/2008

Well hell in a fruit basket, I've been slackin, man, now that I see that not only did sage (whose real name is sagesasami, but it was funnier for me to refer to her as a spice, which now that I mention it, makes me realize I could have made a Spice Girls joke, but crap, it's too late now. That's what happens when you don't do your homework, like looking at the recruit's application! Kids, learn from this; stay in school, major in English, and be unemployed the rest of your life!) and Uyukio, the Daimyo of my heart. What I realized is that we have

More recruits!


Wulfeh

First up in my rolling calvicade of dialectical empiricism is Wulfeh. Now, not to be a grammar snob, but Wulfeh is just awful spelling. It's Wolfie. Wulfeh suggests hacker-speak, which is forbidden in CSTF, because we were hacked once by Mongolian marauders wielding huge-ass axes. I mean, they were frickin' huge. So Wulfeh, you'll need to change your name, or at least write a browser for me that spells your name in a proper manner. Failure to do so will result in my decapitation by irate college English professors who told me that if I allowed l33t speak in my articles, then I'd face the guillotine, which is French for snobbishness. And quite frankly, I don't want to deal with that.


TheBusiness

TheBusiness joins us, and with his joining we have a new member that rivals Popsmear in interpretality of nameage (words borrowed from our President's lexicon). I mean, you could go the gross route and say that he's doing his business when playing TF2, which I assume is on a laptop hooked up in his basement bathroom. OR, it could be that he's getting down to business, like he's serious about playing the game, which is silly since it's a game, and he's not even getting paid, unlike I, who is paid in rupies from the orginal Zelda game. But I think his name indeed is something far more sinister. I think his name represents "The Business" in the way a name like TheMan represents "The Man", aka the anonymous dude (Airborne) that controls the world and keeps people in places he deems appropriate, like Greenland, which is inhabited by Vikings, who really need a new owner if they're stuck out in that pit of arctic hell. But anyways, TheBusiness is actually The Business (Dan Snyder) that controls our economy and makes us suffer high gasoline prices and while lowering the prices of fattening foods like Ho-Hos, a brand of dessert (or in my fatter days, dinner) with a name suggesting you'll get a disease or crack addiction from eating them, all in an effort to please The Man (Myrtle Harris), who in turn proves to be a Quintison, a horrible race of horribly-conceived Transformers from season 3, when they were running out of ideas (like in season 2 there was an episode where an Autobot was at a disco ... I'm not pooping you); this race had five faces, each to display an emotion (evil). So I think The Man is a Quintison, and we need to discover the three other faces in order to save Cybertron from certain destruction. So, in summaration (sic GWB), welcome, TheBusiness!


Sinner

After extensive research, I have discovered that Sinner is the third face of The Man, the Quitison that controls our fate. So, at least we have two CSTFers as part of The Man, so we're doing alright, as long as I don't get kicked out of CSTF for siding with Myrtle. But enough about Rocky and Bullwinkle (greatest line ever: "Eeevil? I thought they said Weeeevil!); this is about Sinner, who is actually a priest, but he knows that humans are sinners, so he's not a hypocrite, since he knows even men of The Dark Lord (he IS a Sinner) can be a sinner. Wait, that makes no sense. His name should be Do-Gooder if he's a phantom menace (which is only good for lightsaber battles) since even demons have their good side every now and then (look at Bill Gates, he released Vista ... ok, bad example.). So Do-Gooder/Sinner/demon/priest/angel/Gungan, I welcome you into CSTF!


DayQuil
... isn't working for me quite as well as it did the first day I took it. Maybe I need AfternoonQuil, or should have taken EarlierMorningQuil. Oh well, live and still be ignorant, that's my motto. Until next time, which could be two hours if I find out that we have more members, this is truly yours,

-BF

7 Comments - View Comments

New Recruits! This is only 10 days-late news! | Posted by: [CSTF]®BuckingFastard03/03/2008

New recruits!

Uyukio
Uyukio has joined us! He joins a proud tradition of samurai warriors that have joined the Clan CSTF. He is proud to commit seppuku any day of the week for his warrior caste, and that's saying something, since being disemboweled hurts like hell. Seriously, I need to be anesthetized just for an upper endoscopy. Once I was having one and wouldn't you know it, I woke up in the middle of it. They told me, err, ok, just don't swallow the tube any more than it's already down your throat. So I'm lying there, thinking "damn, this is slightly uncomfortable, and what's the name and the address of the anesthesiologist?" So then the next time I'm getting the same procedure done, they put me under too much, and my sleep apnea kicked in and I stopped breathing for a little while, which they eventually noticed. So they asked me afterwards if I had sleep apnea, and I'm like, yeah, guess I should have told you that, eh? And they said yeah, you kinda scared us when you almost died. Then the NEXT time, everything went off without a hitch, because they must have figured out by then how to successfully knock me off my rocker without killing me. I became close friends with the anesthesiologist for the 10 seconds I saw him after the procedure, when I was so hopped up on happy gas that I told him he was my bestest friend and perhaps the greatest male ever to don a bluish-green smock and pajama bottoms. And now I have another one scheduled for next week. I've lost like 80 lbs since my last endoscopies, so I don't have to worry about the sleep apnea killing me, but man, now that the scientific variables have changed, will my upper GI Joe doctor be able to properly handle it? Tune in next week! If you're reading Kemp's news, then I'm dead!

sage
We also have sage joining our ranks. We tried to get rosemary and thyme to join as well, but no such luck. But who cares! sage kicks ass! Especially with oregano. My god, what a combo. But this sage is better known for prowess with a weapon, as opposed to seasoning a good hunk of steak or whatever the hell you use sage with. I think chicken? Like it makes it tastier? Man, I need to learn how to cook. I have no clue what I'm talking about. I actually am typing all this while talking to Kemp about 2moons. Why 2? Why not two? Or to? Or too? Or for that matter, to be slightly less weird, 3 or 4? Why the hell stop at 2? Damnit, we need to overthrow the Acclaim regime of free MMORPGs and get our boys back into playing some TF2. All who agree, follow me to the battlefield, where I'll leave you to rot, because there's no way in hell that I'm getting killed for something as trivial as 2moons. You dumbass lemmings! Haha! Someone anesthetize me, or at at least give me my horse tranquilizer!

Anywhodunnits, that's all I know for now, other than how to cough up phlegm, since I have either the flu or a mild strain of the bubonic plague. Please don't burn my corpse if I do have Black Death, though; like, put me in an incubator or something so that I can't infect people, but my body won't deteriorate, kinda like Dr. Evil and Ted Williams, only without the crappy Big Boys food and baseball bat. Till then, I am your sickly but pickley friend,

-BF

5 Comments - View Comments

Another Enchanter (not Tim) joins the ranks! | Posted by: [CSTF]®BuckingFastard02/23/2008

We have a new sorcerer in the clan! Not only do we have Merlyn, but we now have WizardJr. As some of you may not know, WizardJr is [CSTF]Hulky's older brother. And that, therein, lies the problem. Like DoctorDisaster below, what if the Wiz uses his powers for evil? I think we have evidence already. His younger brother's Steam family photo is that of a certain Incredible Hulk. That's right, he's green, mean, and something else that rhymes with "een". But how did he get that way? The answer, my friends, is blowin' in the wind; not really, but the answer COULD be ... WizardJr!! What if this diabolical older brother cast some polymorphing spell to turn his younger brother mean, green, and "een"? Or did he do worse? Did he, in some alchemical-version of a Frankenstein-like experiment, create his younger brother!? And that leads to my final question (thank god): who, exactly, is Wizard Senior? Is he WizardJr's father? Or is he his MAKER? Is WizardJr really a flesh golem, walking around, posing as a human being, and did he, in some bizarre twist of fate, kill his creator and absorb his power, Highlander style, only without the immortality and all-knowingness? Did he murder his father?

The answer is no. Duh.

But it's fun to think about, for me anyways, because I've got the brain of a Frito. Which reminds me: I love Fritos. Munch a Bunch, yeah! My favorite sandwich is a mayo and Frito Bandito sandwich (if you follow the link, you'll see how racist American TV was in the 60s). This sandwich is simply amazing. Imagine where we'd be without sandwiches. With no bread, we'd have to lather our Fritos with mayo and mustard and horseradish sauce and thousand island dressing and Taco Bell taco seasoning and ketchup and chicken droppings and elephant phlegm, and pick up the whole mess, and throw it away, because it's just too disgusting to eat at that point. Then we'd order a pizza, sit back and watch the Superbowl, which, in this fantasy world, is on every night, do the Super Bowl Shuffle, then ruffle our hair, before finally remembering to wash our hands, because they're still covered with all that crap listed above. Which in a way makes a sandwich-less world sound pretty darn nice, as long as you have lots of shampoo and free time.

So welcome to our family [CSTF]WizardJr! Like the Olive Garden commercial says, "We helped make BF and millions of other fat." No wait, that's not it. It's "When you're here, you're family." And I think we can all learn something from that nauseating drek.

Yours truly, with a harpoon, barbed wire, and five malformed chickens (don't ask),

-BF

The Doctor is In and Birthday Partying | Posted by: [CSTF]®BuckingFastard02/20/2008

We have a new recruit! DoctorDisaster has joined our ranks. Which leads me to this important question: Did we make a wise choice?

Why do I ask? Because I have to have something to write about. But also because there are too many evil interpretations of his name which suggest that either he is evil or that I am on crack.

My first though is: Is he a really bad doctor? He's DoctorDisaster. Is that what they call him down at the podiatry ward behind his back? Does he suck so badly that he puts the "poo" in "poop"? What if he's actually a mad scientist, who operates on his patients with experimental glee, only to see his insane efforts end in a Cyclopean failure of Lovecraftian proportions? What if he's as bad as the doctor from Weird Al's "Like a Surgeon"? My GOD, what have we done?!

OR: Is he an evil doctor that heals disasters? Like say a typhoon comes in and skins its knee when it trips over an island. Is DoctorDisaster the one who applies the Scooby Doo bandaid? Are we harboring a person that goes out of his way to help the natural disasters that have plagued humankind for centuries? Which would mean he's been alive for centuries? Which means, maybe he's a vampire? Do we really want a vampire in our clan? What if he tries to turn into a bat during a match? They'd definitely say he's hacking. I mean, it'd be like a medic with noclip turned on only for him. So this problem, manifesting itself in a way I can only pull out of my arse, may or may not be a problem, since I want to be a vampire too.

But instead, I think, he's a doctor that brings disaster to his foes. Which means good things for our team. So Doctor Lestat, welcome aboard, and may you not be plagued by more crap from me.


It's my Birthday! Yay?

Shameless plug. My shirt size is XL, I prefer Polo, spring-colors only. If I get a grey heather shirt, I'm going to be irate.


Now I'm off to party my ass off by stealing some merchandise in Daggerfall. I swear, those merchants make it too easy when they close shop at night. I'm level 4 and have a Mithril Dai-katana I stole from one of those high-class, "you smell incense" merchants. They kick ass for robbing. Dwarven boots? Thanks, I'll get the five-finger discount when you go to bed tonight.

But before you can yell "Halt!", I'll sign off as yours truly, the one-year closer to death, age 32 and counting,

-BF

Home | Next 8